


Ideal Territory

by iniquiticity



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Falconry, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Blowjobs, Domestic Fluff, Hunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: In the daylight he could see the bright red of the aviary roof and near it the sprawling building that made up the Virginia Falcon Knowledge and Conservation Center. He heard Ben whistle, across the rolling hill of their property/bird hunting territory, and smiled when he thought of what Ben looked like with a bird on his arm.





	Ideal Territory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts).



> happy belated birthday, dearest.

George parked his truck. The first thing he heard when he closed the door was a familiar whistle - sharp and short, loud enough to ring across their open plane and longer if the wind carried it. They’d practiced that whistle, until it sounded like George’s, so there could be more switching between them with the hawks. At first Ben’s had been too different, and they ignored him - sometimes flying away with only the spite a hawk could give you. But they practiced, and either the birds came to know Ben as someone reasonable and safe, and more importantly someone George trusted, and thus they trusted. 

The field was green and bright with wildflowers, and the damp grass sloshed against his boots as he made his way across it. It was an overcast day, perfect for human eyes - bright enough to see forever but enough visible sun to make it possible to spot your partner, bird or otherwise. In the daylight he could see the bright red of some of the mews roofs and near it the sprawling building that made up the Virginia Falcon Knowledge and Conservation Center. Past that he saw the dark smudge of a raptor in flight, and smiled. 

It was a very generous name for the four collected buildings, which on a good day looked from the dirt road like a strip mall and on a bad day looked downright abandoned. But it was his, for him and the birds and a few of the staff who liked the birds almost as much as he did, and to him it was a magnificent castle to him.

Three days in their partner office in New York and he found the sweet Virginia heat wonderful across his skin and the sight of the familiar trees like home. One day he’d get up the ability to tell New York they were doing just fine without him and he wasn’t showing up anymore, but apparently that wasn’t today. But he was glad that went to New York, sometimes. Without New York, there'd be no Ben. 

Ben was gorgeous and thoughtful and new to falconry and still loved every bird with the whole passion of his huge heart. Ben was tender and wonderful and affectionate. Ben had been drawn to falconry for all kinds of troubled reasons - most good falconers were. George had been confused, at first - they were different, in a lot of ways. But they were also the same in ways, and then at the end of some period of him going back and forth, Ben said _I care about you so much, and I want to go to Virginia with you._

George would have turned down anyone else from New York, but he couldn’t say no to Ben. There had been kissing. A lot of it. Other things, too. 

So they went. That had been four years ago, and now they were here. Ben made a good employee and better partner. He was excellent with kids. He spruced up some of their after-school programs. Everyone else who worked at the place loved him. He was patient when George couldn't be, in their falconry seminars. 

The raptor in the sky dove and disappeared from his view, into some trees.

No seminars today though. Saturday. They sometimes worked Saturday, though not all of the time. On the Saturdays away from other people (his favorite kind of Saturday), George liked to take care of the birds and think about some future which was brighter now that Ben was here. 

Another sharp whistle, this time behind him. Ben must’ve started on the other side of the rolling hill that sloped through the property, and now they had looped around. He thought about whistling back, but with no guard on his arm, it would have been bad news to bring both Ben and whoever he happened to be hunting with. Instead, he continued on his way, pushing open the door marked _staff only_ into the administrative building. He moved through a waiting room and then into a little hallway that split into two offices, his and the space for the rest of the staff. Behind there was hawking supplies like spare leather, equipment, and thread; a three-room medical area which Ben joked was the tiniest animal hospital known to man, and large freezer which was always well-stocked with dead rats and rabbits. 

His office was neatly organized with binders of old administrative records, financial documents, and bird medical records. Ben thought he should go digital with it, but he was old and stubborn and hadn’t given in yet. He thought he probably would eventually, but he was keeping it just the way he liked it for as long as he could. He still resented being forced to get an email address, and like hell he’d get a cell phone where you could bother him when he was out on a field. Just him and the sky and the predator and the prey, thank you very much. 

Framed on the wall was couple of awards Ben had convinced him into displaying and an anatomy diagram of a golden eagle.There was nothing _wrong_ with New York, other than it wasn’t Virginia. It was only that he preferred the slow crawl of the south. There was nothing _wrong_ with New Yorkers, other than they weren’t Virginians, Ben excluded. He could go at Ben’s pace, though Ben would too quickly adapt to him. He had considered moving to New York for the man, before Ben had volunteered to move to Virginia. 

He put Ben out of his mind and reached for the nearest folder. Some environmental group had asked him to present for some shithead political group regarding about how some changed EPA regulation would impact the food chain. They had gotten some other ornithologists too, but he apparently the best raptor specialist they could find. He didn't deny he could make a pretty good speech, when he tried. It wasn’t exactly the sky and the predator and the prey, but if they needed him to talk about bird bones and eggshells, he was happy to do it if it meant less poison in the air. 

He worked on that for a little while, until he was disrupted by the sound of the door opening. He looked up and saw Ben, still in his hawking jacket, a bit of dead rabbit sticking out of one of the large pockets in the front. 

Ben looked a bit worse for the wear. His face was scratched and dirty, and he was dabbing a spot of blood away from his forehead with a wet paper towel. 

“What happened?” George asked, frowning. It didn't look like one of the birds had been spooked, to his expert eye. It looked like Ben had fought a thornbush. 

“Mops found a rabbit warren, and I hurried right into a sharp shrub,” Ben said, and George stood, maybe too abrupt. “She’s fine,” he added, and George slowly sat back down again, still watching the other man with some concern. “She’s really way more into you than me. So when you’re away she gets really cranky, and then I’m with her and then she gets crankier.” 

“You handled that really well if you’re not scratched up,” George said, a little disbelief in his features, “She’s a pretty big girl. She could do a real number to you.” 

“She was more interested in the rabbit leg than the fleeing kits,” Ben said, shrugging. He tucked the dirty paper towel into his pocket with the bit of dead rabbit, “Although honestly I didn’t know if that was going to be the case. If anyone was going to take a kit over a leg, It would be her.” 

“True,” George agreed. Mops - Mopsey - was a good-sized golden eagle rescue that had been given to him by an animal control shelter. Their conservation center did some bird rehabilitation - really more like bird-sitting than anything serious - but Mopsey had been given to him for the long haul. She should have been post-imprint, but she also showed absolutely no interest in leaving him. She’d come back from some pretty lengthy trips. She was intense and beautiful and powerful and he loved her like she loved him. 

But Ben had previously had a bad experience with a golden eagle much like her, and it had left him with a good scar on his arm and a solid chunk of flesh taken out of his chest. For a while, Ben couldn’t look at anything bigger than a kestrel without flinching away. To see Ben, scared like a half-trained hawk and not really able to be with him on hunts or when he took care of his birds -- it was hard. 

But Ben had come back. Ben had overcome that fear and stayed with George and now he had kept his cool with Mopsey finding a rabbit warren -- 

“What?” Ben said, because he had caught George wondering how lucky he was. 

“Maybe I’ll take her to New York with me next time I go,” he said, because Ben didn’t like talking about the two visible scars he would have for a long time, or how wonderful he was. 

“Yeah, Mops on a plane,” Ben replied, and chuckled, “She’d hunt the hell out of those annoying plane children.” 

“I’d drive.” He let a beat hang in the air, and then he walked around the desk and pulled a twig out of the man’s hair. “Why don’t you hang your jacket and take the meat out of your pocket.” 

“Yeah, I’ll keep cleaning up,” Ben said, and he reached around George onto his desk to pull out an alcohol swab from the pile on his desk and return to wiping the scrape, “Maybe give Mops a hug. Do you have a lot to do? I thought we were going to go to dinner tonight.” 

“Yeah, we’re still going,” he said, glad for the change in subject, and also because he had forgotten they were going to dinner, “I was just waiting for you to come in. I saw you when I was driving back.” 

Ben smiled. “Good,” he said, “Love you.” Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway. 

“Love you,” George said. For a few moments he just stood in his office and stared at the spot where Ben had been. He cared more about birds than people and hardly found himself very eligible. And yet, this handsome, wonderful man had uprooted himself to move to a new state. And yet this handsome, wonderful man had suffered a fairly significant injury in a field he was only recently coming into, and he was still here. He had seemed very much like a falconer right then, with his hawking coat and a little scratched up and filled with affection for one of their birds. George reached over to his deck and picked up a framed picture of the two of them with a harris hawk they had been keeping an eye on as a favor to a rehabilitation clinic nearby. Ben had put it on his desk. 

Funny how they looked, like they could match each other, that he deserved someone so spectacular. 

He put the picture down and shook himself off of the sentimentality. 

\-------

  


Mopsey was big even for a golden eagle, and he admired everything about her. It didn’t feel like a domestication. It felt like they were partners, and that she liked him. He wasn’t rude enough to stop a magnificent bird like her from being his friend. 

She had her own mews, bigger than his house. It had four perches at four different levels and was one of his best works. He clicked the door opened and whistled sharply, and then she was at the perch closest to him, taking him in with those gorgeous black-gold eyes, all dark feathers and intensity. He heard the familiar ringing of the bell on her leg. He needed a radio transmitter about as much as he needed an email address. Mopsey was as old-fashioned as he was; she came back when she liked, and she knew where he was just fine, thank you. No fancy technology needed.

“Thanks for not taking a chunk out of Ben when he got mad at you over the rabbits,” he said, and held his gloved arm up. She came without a whistle, like she’d been waiting. She nipped at some bit on one of her talons and took in the mews, then him. “A warren, huh? Don’t you think that’s being a bit greedy? You’re the most spoiled bird I know.” 

Mopsy fluttered away from him, to the highest post, and ruffled her massive wings. He sighed, held up his hand again, and whistled. She stared at him and preened for a few moments, and then came back. 

“I don’t think you’ll get lazy for me if I give you one extra run, right?” he said. She turned to him, then stared through the mesh cage of the mews. “I thought so." 

Outside the late afternoon felt good, and with Mopsey’s weight it was better. He felt some of her focus, felt calmed by the routine of it. It was nice, to feel in tune with nature. To forget bills and seminars and children. To think just of the long sky and the soft jingle of bells and spectacular sight of spread wings. 

He slipped the dark hood over her eyes and walked past the buildings, bird and human alike, away from the rabbit warren. Even in the warm weather, his jacket was comfortable. _Everything_ about this was comfortable - him, the bird, the sky. He stared out into the plain and slid the hood off Mopsey’s head, watching her study the ground. What did she think, about what she saw? What did she think about the sun falling towards the horizon and the scrubby grass trying to grow? What did she think about the green trees and the wildflowers? 

She took off into the sky. He heard the tinkling of her bells, and when she was too far to hear, he sensed her with the inner part of his being. 

_You’re going to lose that bird_ , they’d said, disapproving in more ways than George had thought possible. _And you should be more careful with her weight._

He knew her and she knew him, and that had always been enough. 

_It’s cute she always comes back now but she’s not going to and you’re going to regret it_ they said. 

If she didn’t, he always thought, then he was thrilled with whatever new creature she blessed with her presence. 

_These kind of irregularities end up with people or birds hurt_ , they said. 

He threw out his hands and took a deep sigh of the afternoon Virginia air. There was nothing in that moment but him and the sense of Mopsey that trickled through his brain and the woody plain. The sound of bells hung in the air, drifting to and away from his ears as he took off with a little jog in her direction. She circled, but he was unwavering. He knew how she thought and where she went and how she made those decisions. She would not lead him astray. He looked up and saw her again. He wondered what he was like, in her eyes. 

She dove, and his jog turned into a run. The moment of the dive always made him feel close to her, he thought. It made him think perhaps he had been something like her, in some past life. Noble and graceful and elegant, with no wasted moment. No missteps. Just the beauty of doing precisely what you were designed to do, and the magnificence of that design being put into action. 

He heard her bells again as he hurried. He saw her, wings spread wide on the ground, talons clenched around something. 

“Nice work,” he said, as he slowed back to a walk. Even that eight foot wingspan was spectacular, spread over her prey. She looked victorious like a military officer. “Good catch, gorgeous. What you get?” 

He squatted when he was close, saw stretch of long tail and grey feathers. Mopsey rearranged herself and bent her head to tear open the skin of the little squirrel. 

For a couple moments he just watched, thinking about nature and power and strength. Mopsey was efficient about the kill when he delayed - she’d be lazy tomorrow. Ben might be worried, because it was in his nature to fret all the time and worry about the birds when they weren’t acting right. But Mopsey knew how to take care of herself, and George knew her. Finally he reached in and took hold of the little, half-torn corpse, and put it in his pocket. 

Mopsey stared up at him, half-resenting. He offered his arm and whistled, and she came without asking. 

“You know I’m just looking out for you, gorgeous,” he said, watching her clean off her bloody talons and pick at the spare bits tucked there. He reached his other hand in his pocket, tore off a bit of meat, and offered it to her. “God, you're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, you know that?” 

She took the offered bit from his fingers, and when she was finished eating she shook out all her feathers and stood as straight as a bird could stand on his arm. He laughed at that, comforted by the sound of her tinkling bells, and the weight of her body on his arm. 

\-------

  


They washed up and went to dinner. They had lived together for a while now, in George's house. It wasn’t much - he remembered when he had had more. But he had this now, and he had Ben, and despite how self-conscious he sometimes felt about it, Ben didn’t seem to mind.

Falconry didn’t make you rich, but they had splurged on a fancy restaurant in the nearest town as part of a date. They’d gotten a private booth. George had even taken off his boots and put on some regular shoes. 

Ben was distracted as they ate garlic bread with butter on it, and he barely touched his wine. George tried to make conversation with him, but found the most of the topics he brought were dropped, awkwardly, accompanying long silences. How could you not love an eagle, when they never made you puzzle out what it meant when they were quiet? He could read Mopsey’s moods ten times better than a person's. 

“Are you angry at me about flying Mopsey?” he asked, when their plates were delivered. Ben had ordered some kind of chicken with stuff on it, diced tomatoes and rice on the side. 

“What?” Ben said, looking up from his chicken, “Why would I be mad about that? Mops is yours. Well, you’re hers, but splitting hairs.” 

George kept his gaze level. 

Ben put his fork down and stared at his chicken. He folded his hands together and fidgeted for a couple of moments. Then, he took a deep breath, and met George's eyes again. 

“I just thinking about our life,” he said, “I mean, my life, I guess. It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was in law school, you know? Maybe it was a long time ago, but it doesn’t _seem_ like a long time ago. I was just a really different person. And then I got into birding. And then found you. And you’re just… so amazing.” 

The little speech melted whatever tension he felt. It was impossible to be angry at Ben when he was like this, anxious and adorable. Ben could be a little nervous, and something about it just made George want to hold him and kiss him and tell him that he was wonderful. He looked at Ben for a few more moments, then reached over and untangled the fidgeting hands and squeezed them. 

“You’re the most wonderful man I have ever met,” he said, and gave Ben’s hands another little squeeze before putting them down and picking up his hamburger. 

“Thanks, you too,” Ben said, before picking up his fork and knife and starting on his dinner, “I didn’t mean to make you nervous.” 

George shrugged in response, which was all he could do with a mouth full of half-chewed hamburger. The silence was better now. They ate and drank. The place had a good bourbon selection, which George took great advantage of. 

With Mopsey he could sense when there was a shift, and Ben was no different. Throughout the meal, George went on about some falconry conference they’d been invited to in Atlanta. Even though Ben listened, George could see the different thoughts in his head, which caused a fresh push of worry through him, this time lined with an alcohol-induced nervousness. 

He took a breath and a sip. He trusted Mopsey to fly and come back and he could trust Ben to tell him when things weren’t the way he wanted them to be. He concentrated on his hamburger and waited. Thought about bells and the sky and ignored all the unimportant real life details of their jobs, and that seminar-class they were supposed to do next week. He was good at waiting Ben out. 

“So,” Ben said, finally, when George was done with his hamburger and was looking at the menu, “I was just thinking. That. If.” 

George put his napkin down and took Ben in. Admired his dark hair and bright eyes and the smooth curve of his jaw. “What?” 

“Well,” Ben began again, and even more hesitant this time, not even making eye contact with him, “I just… I’m not asking you to-- but….I just…” He took another breath. “You’re just the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I was just thinking about sealing the deal. I mean. Not now, right. But what would happen if I did. At some point.” 

George blinked at him. He had now drank a fair bit of liquor, and that Ben had stumbled over his words had made it even harder to understand what the man was getting at. But if he concentrated, and picked the words out, he would put them back together in a reasonable way. It took a moment; Ben would wait, knew that he was sometimes delayed after liquor. 

He snapped the last sentence piece into place. 

“Oh,” he said, because the words only made sense in one direction, like a puzzle. Sure you could put the words in different orders, but they wouldn’t make the same picture. The edges wouldn’t line up. “Oh,” he said again, and Ben stared at him, only making a half-effort to disguise the desperation on his face. 

“So, is that too much?” Ben asked. 

There was another processing moment. _Too much?_

He felt the production of the words in his brain, felt them passed down through the back of his head and into his mouth. “No,” he said, “That wouldn’t be too much. That would be good. If. When. Would be good.”

Ben stared at him across the table. He took a very deep breath that George saw from the way it expanded his chest and moved through the hollow of his throat, and he watched Ben lick those pink lips. 

“Ok,” Ben said, very slowly. He looked rattled. George felt the press of the restaurant, which was the only thing stopping him from getting up, taking Ben by the neck of his shirt and kissing him as hard as he could. Their hunting acres, with a warm evening breeze and the openness of the sky and stars, would have been nice, but he would have also settled for their house. 

“We should go home,” he said. Ben nodded, and called for the check. George paid, and in the car he took Ben’s hand from the center console and held it, watching the other man drive. 

\-------

  


Their present residence was a bit worn down. Two beds and two baths, and old kitchen, a little living room. Terrible brown carpets and flaking paint. Sometimes George was nostalgic for the mansions and properties he’d had when he was Ben’s age. He remembered what it was like, to be taken care of by nannies and private lessons. He'd given it up to try to fix his brother's problems, long past. It hadn't worked.

It seemed impossible that the person he’d been then - speaking plainly, a complete jackass of the worst kind - could become the person he was now. Mopsey would have never taken to that version of him, who would be demanding with her hunts and her time. Even worse, Ben would have never taken to that version of him. He would have been an ass to Ben. The thought of some younger version of himself pushing Ben away was too much. 

The steps to the porch in front of the house creaked; it was on his to-do list to fix them. He’d been prepared on a previous occasion, only the huge wildlife center in Richmond had called him about a vulture that had been acting strange, so that weekend disappeared. Ben was still staring away from him. He had been strange in the car, but George had been concentrating the dirt road that lead to their house and their space. He liked their empty lots and lengths of dirt stretches. The guys in New York always had a good ride to their hunting grounds. Not him. Give him that space. 

Even in the too-yellow glow of the lightbulb over the porch, the man was incredibly, overwhelmingly beautiful. 

“Are you still nervous when I said I’d marry you?” He asked, the liquor settling calm confidence into his stomach, “Because I would. Tomorrow, if you wanted. Now. In the field. I wasn’t lying.” 

Ben stared at him again, and then tried to gather his composure. He was rattled. Had George said the wrong thing? No, Ben had asked. He knew what he wanted, and he knew that he would have agreed. Even in this hypothetical, he would agree. 

“I know,” Ben said, finally. He looked around their empty lot, their dusty house always seeming out of place. “Can we go inside?” 

“Of course we can.” 

Ben took him in with those bright eyes and George decided once inside, he didn’t need to hold back. He grabbed the Ben’s shirt and kissed him, good and hard, and then took a step back. Ben stared at him again, and George laughed. 

“I'm going to make you a drink,” he said, and walked into their old kitchen without seeing Ben. Ben liked a nice Manhattan, whiskey and vermouth, and they kept cherries. Ben liked extra cherries in his Manhattan, and less bitters. He poured himself some straight whiskey too, and took them both into the dining room. Ben had taken off his jacket and shoes and turned on the TV and was looking through Netflix. 

“Thanks, George,” he said, “Do you want to watch something?” 

“The more boring, the better,” George answered, and took a sip of his whiskey. He sat down next to ben and put his empty hand on Ben’s leg, “I don’t really want to watch TV right now,” he amended, and drank more whiskey, and felt wonderfully drunk, and Ben laughed. 

“I haven’t finished this Manhattan that you made me,” Ben said, but he was smilingly, and god, he was beautiful. 

“Keep drinking it, and hold this too,” George said, and gave him the glass with his whiskey. Ben blinked at him, puzzled, but he took the glass. 

“You’re not going to---” Ben said, but then George was pushing himself off the couch and onto the floor, grabbing one of the couch cushions and settling it under his knees. He ran his hands over Ben’s thighs again and pressed his face close to them, taking in a deep breath of skin and denim and his own whiskey breath. Stumbling fingers couldn’t stop him from pulling Ben from his jeans and his boxers and taking him, soft and warm, into his mouth. He tasted whiskey and skin and heard Ben’s gasps. 

It was strange, to feel like home in a place so far from where’d you come. He’d had more, but he would have given all of it up for this. He would have given it all up for Ben and the open field and the confidence of the hunt and the easy knowledge of how to give the man you loved pleasure. He stroked Ben’s thighs and freezing cold fingers, from a glass maybe, on the back of his neck. Even though the touch was ice it was magnificent, and inspired George to take more. 

“Christ,” Ben said above him, and dug his fingers in, and George groaned low in his throat. The easy haze of alcohol blurred the time and took away all of the residual aches and pains, until he could just concentrate on Ben in his throat and the rush of air through his nose. 

When Ben came George tasted salt on his tongue, sucked him dry. Heard Ben laughing a breathless kind of laugh. When George pulled away and stood, he didn’t even feel his knees creek. Ben offered him the Glass in his hand, and he took it, drank some, handed it back. The whiskey was too cold, with the ice, and tasted like Manhattans. And even so it was perfect. He realized he didn’t care about the other glass. Instead he fit himself on top of Ben, spreading his legs around him. When he kissed Ben he felt nothing but warm lips, and heard only the tinkle of ice cubes in the glass like bird bells.


End file.
